Play With Fire
by Sorkari
Summary: Just one more time, the Hunter would always tell himself, because there was no such thing as a fruitless hunt. One more time, regardless of what they do to him.


**A/N:** I'm just so drawn to the idea of a pathetic Hunter getting used and abused tbh thats all this is

There were problems of Hunters getting mixed up, and me not knowing which one was which when I talked about them, so our OG Hunter will be going by "Paleblood" and the Powder Keg Hunter/Boom Hammer Hunter will just be "Hunter." I assumed this was appropriate given that Iosefka calls our Hunter "Paleblood" and I didn't want to give him a real name. Just a little warning in case there's any confusion.

* * *

The sound of breaking glass echoed off the gravestones, and with it came the exquisite prickling of skin mending. The Paleblood Hunter was running low on blood vials, he knew, and each corpse he investigated either lacked blood vials or had their supply shattered and smeared over themselves. He didn't want to return to his Dream empty handed, but he realized with a grim tiredness that he may have to anyways.

It wouldn't have been so bad if it had been his first or second time returning, whether carried by a weightless cloud of fluttering dust or led by his faithful messengers by the lamplight. But at this point, he had lost track of how many times he returned to the Dream for his dwindling supplies or awoken next to the lamp with the pain still slowly fading from where his wounds had miraculously disappeared.

He stared up at the cloudless sky, void of any life, any beauty, bright with a gentle caramel from the never-ending sunset of this Nightmare. There was no gentle moonlight to linger, no abyss to swallow the horrors of the night. He contemplated never coming back. It wouldn't be his first time considering such a thing, but even if he were to leave, to forget the sunset, the sunken pupils, the cowering beasts, the shame of such a fruitless hunt would still remain.

But that was why he always came back. There was no such thing as a fruitless hunt.

It took a moment to retrieve his axe from the corpse, the wet crunch of bone painfully loud in his ears as he finally wrenched it free. The lonely trek to the lamp would be a long one, no doubt. He tucked his Evelyn away on its holster, but his axe remained in his hands, shortened so he could scratch at the blood and rotting flesh that caked each crevice. He started up the dirt path past an alleyway. He'd explore it, usually, inspect every nook and cranny for signs of life, friend or foe, but it wouldn't matter at this point. Maybe next time.

Silence. Tranquil silence, hypnotizing, calming. It made him uncomfortable, and he focused on his axe, picking at the worst of the blood before it hardened. Past the scraping of his gloved finger against metal, he heard a soft thud, a whisper, and he knew it was too late.

The face of a metal hammer connected with his arm, both the force of the blow and the explosion that accompanied it throwing him off the dirt path and onto the one several feet below. The ringing in his ears from the explosion and the angry hissing of sparks came to a sudden stop when he reached the path below, landing directly on the arm that had been shattered, and in its place, a metallic screech of pain that drowned out his own. He rolled to the side, the world spinning, his breath faltering at the sight of a bloodied shard of bone protruding from burnt, blistered skin.

He spotted his axe a few feet away, and despite the disorienting fire that raged in his arm, he leaped for it. Rocks crumbled down from the top, hitting his shoulders, and he rolled back away just in time to miss another direct blow from the boom hammer. Another explosion rang in the air, marred the dirt with a murky black, the blast hissing in the Paleblood's ears. He barely caught a glimpse of the Hunter, sunken eyes a deep, smoldering crimson that trained directly on him. Then the Hunter dashed forwards, the back of his hammer sending sparks flying as it scraped the ground, and it narrowly missed the Paleblood's chin.

With only one arm, he could not reach for a blood vial, so his only option was to flee. Except when he turned his back to run, another blow from the boom hammer whispered past him, missing his leg to hit the ground instead. The blast shoved him forward and he toppled on the ground in a graceless heap. He let go of his axe in favor of his Evelyn, rolled to the side to dodge another swing, and aimed. It was only a second, a blink of an eye before the Hunter was on him, and he fired.

Blood spattered on the wall next to them, and he could hear the Hunter's guttural cry. The Paleblood knew it wasn't a direct hit, a flesh wound at most, but it would have to do. He scrambled away and finally, with a relieved breath, retrieved a blood vial. He struggled to pop the lid open, then brought it to his lips.

The beginnings of blood had barely kissed his taste buds when something slammed into the back of his head. The blood vial fell from his hands and shattered as he crumpled to the floor. Skin healed, just barely, perhaps a burn or two, but it was not enough to keep his clarity.

* * *

The Paleblood hadn't been unconscious for long.

He had fought for consciousness, struggling to open his eyes past the lethargy, until he was finally met with the weak rays of sunlight that never seemed to truly die and melt into the night. Then, after vague realization, the pain came, and the uncomfortable weight on his throat became evident. With a start, he tried to sit up, but the smooth curve of metal jammed against his throat kept him on the ground. The crook of a hammer cradled his throat, enough weight for discomfort but not to crush. He stared up at the Hunter who kept him there.

There was a slight discoloration on the Hunter's cheek. Besides that, there was no evidence of a wound. The Paleblood then realized, judging by his missing mask and rucksack, that the bastard probably used his last blood vial. The last dozen that he owned, damn it all, given the small stack of glass he could see out of the corner of his eye. And, more alarmingly, that the Hunter held a gun, an Evelyn, in his free hand, waving it so carelessly in the air.

He brought the Evelyn up to his dim, sunken eyes, inspecting its deadly glint in what light he could get. Then, with a cold voice as rough as the gravel under his boots, he asked, "Another hunter, are you? How many times have you come back now?"

The Paleblood stayed silent. A coherent exchange with a blood-drunk hunter was something he never thought he would ever partake in. Those sunken eyes glowed dangerously, predatory in the way they encapsulated his every movement within them. They were too aware to truly be drunk - but then again, what defines the drunkenness of blood, if not a unique coherency that is strong enough to allow one to defend themselves against a scourge of beasts? Or perhaps it was the blood from the vials, its sweet healing melody enough to quench the abominable thirst for some time. He didn't know, but maybe one day he would when he, too, lost himself to the madness of the scourge.

The Hunter didn't seem pleased by the lack of a response; he jammed his weapon harder against the Paleblood's throat, eliciting a loud gag and a vice-like grip on the handle.

"Unfortunately, the concerns of your business don't matter anymore." Slowly, ever so slowly, he lifted one boot, then roughly nudged his heel between the Paleblood's thighs. A startled sound left the Paleblood's straining throat, and this blood-drunk abomination said, "I've watched you for some time. Coming by to the graveyard, sometimes towards the cathedral, killing beast and man alike as if you have any authority."

The languid grind of the Hunter's heal sent a fire of embarrassment burning up the Paleblood's bruised throat to his cheeks. Despite how laborious it was to speak, he shakily spat in defensive anger, "There's no barrier between the two in this Nightmare."

Surprisingly, the pressure lightened, and he gasped for air. The Hunter laughed, a rough bark of a sound. He ground his heel harder on the Paleblood's crotch, seemingly pleased by the surprised mewl that the action drew.

"There's still something left." Not humanity, necessarily - that was too pure in a Godless land. "Something that you don't want." The Paleblood tried to tug at the handle of the hammer in vain. He gave up and grabbed for purchase on it, the fire in his cheeks intensifying when the muted pressure on his crotch had, horrifyingly enough, started to feel pleasant. The Hunter continued, "What is it, then? A defiled hunt? An answer?"

"Stop this," the Paleblood growled, "Stop -"

Again, the Hunter pressed the weapon harder against his throat, and all pleas fell silent. The Hunter kicked his thighs further apart, digging his heel in harder, and the Paleblood whimpered regardless of his best attempts at keeping quiet. The cruel tendrils of self-loathing curled in his stomach. He wanted to refuse the Hunter the satisfaction, wanted to stay cold and inscrutable, but he felt oddly vulnerable without his mask to keep him hidden from the world.

The lack of oxygen quickly started to take its toll; it wasn't long before the Paleblood's head was spinning. It was difficult to focus, nearly impossible to stop his body from responding to the muted pleasure. He then bucked his hips, mind finally betrayed by the body, a weak sound leaving him.

"That's better," the Hunter hummed.

A sick grin was etched on his face, curling further as the Paleblood beneath him bucked harder with a more fervent whine. Then suddenly, he lifted the hammer a bit, and the Paleblood's first unrestricted lungful of breath was like waking up next to the lamp. Lethargic, even dizzying, but the rebound was remarkable, and he eventually found himself coherent enough to see the Hunter lower the Evelyn. The grinding stopped and the Paleblood would have whined, would have complained if he was delirious enough. Instead, he watched the Hunter aim, then pull the trigger.

He gracelessly screamed until his lungs were painfully empty once more. Blood poured from his knee, marring the dirt beneath it. A sigh left the Hunter's lips at such a remarkable sight, and to further admire the damage he had done, he lifted a foot to press against the mangled knee. The Paleblood could not retain the embarrassingly keening cry that the action drew. He couldn't find enough control in his whirling thoughts to protest against the Evelyn lowering once more.

"It would be unfortunate if I let you escape, wouldn't it?"

"I won't," the Paleblood immediately pleaded, whitened eyes trained fearfully on the Evelyn. "I won't leave, I won't -"

His pleas were cut off with a tumultuous cry that was drowned out by the deafening echo of the gunfire. Another river of blood poured from the bullet hole on his other knee, mirroring the one that already existed. With that, the hammer was lifted and tucked away along with the Evelyn, leaving a deep bruise behind. The Paleblood couldn't find it in himself to move, not when his knees screamed in agony - or perhaps it was his own voice screaming in his ears - and his arm throbbed in a nearly overwhelming ache. In the end, he didn't have to convince himself to; the Hunter reached down and grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking him upwards.

The Paleblood was slammed back against the wall, sitting upright now, held in place by the calloused hand in his hair. The Hunter stood with both feet planted on either side of him, free hand unbuckling his trousers, and the Paleblood immediately knew what he had planned. He tried to turn his head away, increasing his efforts when the Hunter pulled out his hardened cock.

"You'll learn your place," the Hunter purred, yanking his head forward by the hair. "Open. Now."

When the Paleblood refused, he received a hard smack to the face, cheek stinging from the blow. The Hunter jerked his head back into place, forcing his jaw open, and shoved his cock down his throat. The Paleblood immediately gagged, one hand reaching up to cling to the Hunter's thigh. He didn't do it in protest, didn't dare to; he had been forced into submission already, tears welling in the corners of his eye, whatever sliver of dignity or pride that he had left shattering as the Hunter above him drew back almost all the way before slamming back into the slick grip of his throat.

The Paleblood gagged around the Hunter's cock with a pathetic whimper. Somewhere in his broken mind, there was an appeal to being used like a toy, an appeal that he would never admit to himself later under the all-watching moon. But here, where there was only a Hunter holding his head in place and a cock shoved down his throat, there was no point in denying the Hunter all the satisfaction he could possibly want. He let go of his vice-like grip on the Hunter's thigh and reached down to his crotch to undo his own belt. At the very least, he could take some pleasure out of it and ease an ounce of the pain, burning shame be damned.

Almost each deep thrust elicited a gag, saliva dribbling over his straining jaw and down the arch of his throat. The Hunter pinched the Paleblood's nose shut, watching as the tears finally poured down his bruised cheek. Another few thrusts and the Hunter pulled out, his cock falling from bruised lips, the tip of it connected to the Paleblood's tongue by saliva. The Paleblood was shaking and gasping obscenely, hand desperately pumping his own length, those unfocused eyes staring blearily up at him.

It was pathetic, disgusting, perfect. There was something so breathtaking of the sight, something so divine that the Hunter craved to devour. He thrust back in, the loud, tremulous gag pushing him further towards the edge. Whatever humanity he may have retained deteriorated until he was thrusting in earnest, snarling loudly over the Paleblood's pathetic whimpers.

He slammed his hips harder against those bruised lips, against a face wet with tears and saliva, each twitch of the Paleblood's tongue and throat bringing him closer to completion. The Paleblood wasn't that far behind, his head spinning wildly now from the lack of oxygen, his hand working almost mechanically over his cock while pain and pleasure muddled together to form something warm and numb. It happened abruptly; with a few erratic thrusts, the Hunter let go of his nose, using both hands to shove the Paleblood's head down and take him as far as he could go.

The Paleblood choked on it, trying to pull away, but nothing could get the Hunter to move. He pumped harder, reaching so desperately for that release, and finally spilled in his own hand with a muffled whine. Every sensation, whether pain or pleasure, edged away into the abyss. It felt like an eternity, lost somewhere between what he assumed was consciousness and unconsciousness, before suddenly, the Hunter pulled out, finally letting him go completely. With wet, violent coughs, he slumped over, lifeless, useless now, glancing up weakly to the Hunter who regarded him with a satisfied smile.

"You won't be coming back. This is a place for beasts, after all."

The finality in that statement kept the Paleblood silent.

For some reason that he couldn't decipher, when the Hunter retrieved the Evelyn from his coat, he had the decency, the kindness to throw it over to the Paleblood's side. The metallic ring of it hitting the rocky wall and the fading footsteps were all he heard before he was enveloped in silence once more. He took the Evelyn in his sticky hand, but he didn't tuck it away, even if it would be useless at this point whether he could defend himself or not. He waited in this never-ending sunset until too much blood had started to pool from his knees and his vision started to blur.

* * *

The Paleblood Hunter paused as he exited the workshop. A messenger beckoned him over to the gravestone, its hollow moans luring him in with a promise. His hand rest against the bulge of his filled rucksack, his axe and Evelyn both comforting weights at either hip.

He reached up to gently cup his throat and swallowed thickly in anticipation.

There was no such thing as a fruitless hunt, after all. He had to go back.


End file.
